Mandela: Do not ask outsiders to fight on your behalf… Relying on foreign powers will not build a nation

By Abdulaziz Yaqoub

The evening carried a solemn grace as a delegation of Sudanese politicians entered the garden of the old house in Cape Town. It wasn’t an official residence, but rather a living memory of wisdom, struggle, and justice — a place where Mandela’s spirit seemed to reside, as if it had never departed.

They sat in silence until his voice broke through, like a conscience pierced by truth, unmediated.

Mandela (raising his head, voice like stone—solid and clear):
“What have you come to ask of South Africa, O sons of the Nile?”

A member of the delegation (hesitantly):
“We seek mediation… that you convince China and Russia not to use their vetoes, so we may pave the way for international intervention to end the war in Sudan.”

Silence followed. Then Mandela’s eyes rose, as if searching through them for a lost homeland, a tragic downfall.

Mandela:
“Have you asked yourselves: Who ignited the war?
And who holds the keys to extinguish it?
Have you tried reconciliation as you have tried arms?
Have you feared a mother’s tear or the rage of your people as much as you feared the might of weapons and death?

You are not seeking peace…
You are asking the world to lift from you the burden of a decision you did not dare make, and the weight of a homeland you no longer can carry.”

Another member (in a broken voice):
“But the war is grinding down the people, cities are burning, the hungry have no bread, the displaced have no shelter, the refugees no hope… What are we to do?”

Mandela (calmly, but not without anger):
“If you truly fear for your people, you don’t summon strangers — you douse the flames with your own cloak and body, if need be.
Relying on foreign powers does not build nations. It rents out your sovereignty by the hour, betting on a conscience that does not belong to you.
Do not ask outsiders to fight your wars. A war you lack the courage to end yourselves will not be extinguished by planes that come without conscience, love, or memory.
Those who fight for you, and not from among you, always want a price. Are you ready to pay it?”

He paused, as if calling on a wounded memory, then said:

“When I shook De Klerk’s hand, my heart was not pure — but the nation was greater than my wounds.
When I walked out of prison, I did not seek revenge on those who imprisoned me — I sought a constitution and justice that would protect both my rights and theirs.
When many nations let me down, I did not ask them for armies — I asked my people to become an army of wisdom, fairness, and conscience.

Have you asked the Sudanese people before you sought intervention?
Or are you turning to New York because Khartoum no longer holds a home or allies for you?”

One of them tried to justify:
“But the other side does not believe in peace…”

Mandela (interrupting with steady eyes):
“I fought a regime that saw you as lesser because of your skin, yet I called for negotiations.
And you — of one homeland, speaking similar tongues, burying your dead in the same mourning —
You have a great people, who stood by African and Arab liberation movements, including ours.
They are your compass, if you’re honest. They are your strength, if you’re sincere.

If you cannot build peace from your own flesh and blood — with your people’s support —
then peace will not come from blue-helmeted forces that failed in Rwanda, Libya, Somalia, and elsewhere.”

Then he turned to them, as a leader might turn to those who failed him without hatred, and said:

“South Africa will not be a gateway to internationalize destruction. But it will not close its heart to a people being silently slaughtered.
If you want my mediation, make Sudan a homeland worthy of mediation.
Return to Khartoum. Reconcile first with yourselves, then with your people.
Lead a battle of awareness, guide a dialogue rooted in truth and justice.
Collect the weapons, and head toward rebuilding and reconstruction…

Before your enemies divide your country like spoils under the shadow of ruin.
Don’t wait for peace to fall from the sky — build it on the ground, even if from mud and tears.”

He then rose slowly, as if leaving a scene unworthy of his dream, and whispered:

“The worst kind of betrayal is when a leader chooses moral laziness and easy solutions in the face of his people’s suffering.
And when politics fails — it is not punished by Chapter VII — it is judged by the people, and by history.”

Then he vanished.

On the way to the airport, one of them stared at the text of Chapter VII of the UN Charter, contemplating the cold phrases about “coercive measures” and “intervention to protect civilians.”

He whispered to himself:
“Chapter VII only succeeded in liberating Kuwait and South Korea from foreign invasions…
But in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, and Somalia — the endings were only more destruction and ash.”

Yet Mandela’s final words were etched in his mind:
“Who will carry the banner after the guns fall silent?
Who will restore to the people their right to a homeland — not just a ceasefire over the rubble of a burning city?”

The delegation left the old house in Cape Town for the capitals of intrigue and ruin —
after receiving a lesson in patriotism and love of country from the spirit of a leader who never truly died.

They walked away with bowed heads… burdened not by helplessness this time — but by shame.

A shame that makes one who seeks foreign intervention wish for death a thousand times over — before he surrenders his people’s blood or rents out his nation’s sovereignty on the altar of global wagers.